


Unspoken Memories

by Ezri_Dax



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:12:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezri_Dax/pseuds/Ezri_Dax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it takes delving into the past to truly appreciate the future. Beca/Chloe</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by my best friend: MSD

Comfort. 

It wasn’t a feeling that Beca had a lot of experience with. 

As a child more often than not her parents were too preoccupied with each other to offer any kind of proper attention toward their daughter. The neglect started with small, simple, barely notable actions. Beca would be placed in her high chair, given her favourite blanket and then briefly left alone behind a closed door. She’d hear heated voices, savage words and bitter replies emanate from behind the kitchen door. Once even a slap. But then one of them would come back in, sit back down and pretend that it didn’t happen, leaving Beca’s childish mind bewildered and perplexed.

She’d remember a day, before she’d even started school, when she was to cross a road. She’d seen the fast cars before, always looming over her; a metallic beast capable of causing more than a simple scraped knee. She’d seen them hurtle past, felt the back wind whip her hair across her face and smelt the exhaust as it filled her nostrils unabashedly. They scared her. But then she’d remember that she’d seen other children, just as small as her, take their parents hands and walk across. 

Beca tried that once, to slip her hand inside her mothers, seeking out that security and comfort that she didn’t seem to find at home. That maybe in the sense of danger may her mother try to shield her away from her fears.

It didn’t happen.

She was pulled along, or ushered, she didn’t know. It all happened so quickly that it could have been a mixture of both. She tripped over the pavement and cried out, only held up by the firm but slightly harsh grip of her mother. When she finally got to the other side all that she felt was this feeling of unsettling disorientation. She even got told off for being so skittish. Hurt feelings and confused thoughts lurched through her muddled juvenile mind as her mother stepped away. Where was the confidence- the smile? Or the warmth of her mother’s hand? Where was the comfort?

Then she remembered the worst of all her doubts and fears. The one that wouldn’t stop reiterating itself or go away. Was she not even worth defending?

She didn’t reach out again after that.

Her anxiety continued until the start of school. Children from all races, ages and sexes were there, walking happily, blissfully, freely. Content. She saw them get pulled close by their parents, saw them get hugged and kissed goodbye with their hair being ruffled playfully, maybe even a little tearfully when parents realised that their little child maybe wasn’t so little any more. 

She didn’t remember that, at least, not for herself. Her father had driven her to school, dropped her out of the car with nothing more than a quick smile and an awkward pat on the head before driving off to work, leaving her alone. Again. 

She entered the classroom hesitantly and quietly, keeping her head down. But that was when she heard it. She let the teacher direct her to a table and it was only when she was two steps away when her ears managed to decipher the near constant chatter of the other kids laughing. They snickered and jeered at how they had to stave away their parents, that it was embarrassing to be kissed and hugged in public and how they wished it didn’t happen. Beca couldn’t have thought of more prominent moment in her life when she thought someone could be so wrong.

The topic changed and the words ‘photos’, ‘school’ and ‘first day’ flooded her ears. They spoke of how their parents had licked their thumbs and wiped away yet another invisible smudge on their cheek or how they’d straighten the already straight collar for the first photo of the year; the first milestone of their maturation and learning. When they asked about her Beca just shook her head and pulled away. She didn’t mention that her parents forgot to photograph her, to voice their pride for their growing daughter or even reassure her with a ‘you’ll be fine.’ When they did finally remember, they laughed it off, proclaiming ‘who cares! It’s just school!’ It was the first time Beca noticed them actually agree on something. 

She didn’t dare mention that maybe she cared.

Years past and little changed in her family other than the increasing intensity of her parent’s fights. The first time she got bullied – physically – Beca ran home crying, small hands barely covering her steadily blackening eye and tears. She remembered desperately clutching at her parents, vainly trying to win some sort of concern.  
Over her time in school she was constantly shouted at, teased or called names. But that was fine bearable, she could block that out. After all she’d leant to do that with her parents. Yet the abuse had recently risen to a whole new personal level, they literally pushed her into lockers, shoved her to the ground and lately, throwing punches.  
Her father knelt down and took away her hand, inspecting the fast growing bruise, watching the tears fall down her face. After several moments he rolled back on to his heels and stood back up again, jaw set. 

“Why did you let this happen?”

No hug. No sympathy. And actually blamed for being bullied. Tears flooded her eyes again with a new, cutting realisation. The most contact she’d had was at the hands of her tormenters.

Since that night her eyes took on a steel edge.

And then her father left. Leaving Beca and her mother alone. It was the first time in her life in which she could remember she mother actually came to her for comfort, begging to be consoled and hugged with warm reassurance. The woman would seek her out, tears already running down her face, sobbing out curses and misery’s almost constantly, shouting out her hatred for the man she married. She made Beca her emotional crutch. It was the first time she’d seen her mother truly affected by her father’s actions.

It was also the first time in her life in which Beca rejected her mother’s touch. She’d already learnt how to stand alone. 

She was ten years old.

Time passed and Beca no longer felt the unquenchable green tint of jealousy rise behind her eyes when she saw a parent love their child. She’d buried herself in music, taking herself away from society, creating new tracks and distancing herself from everything. She didn’t try to call back any missed calls from her father and she didn’t bother talking much with her mother, instead preferring to mix music in her room in solitude. They weren’t parents to her any more, not by any stretch of the definition, simply people she happened to have the misfortune to be related to.

Finally school finished and she was begrudgingly enrolled at Barden University, a ‘courtesy’ of her father. It was a community filled with people with all kinds of characteristics; some smart, some funny and some downright perverted; a place where she wasn’t sure if a faded smile or a sarcastically cutting comment could be enough anymore. It was a place where she couldn’t actually hide-

Arms tightened around Beca’s waist and pulled her closer to a warm chest, effectively cutting off her train of dark memories. A nose nuzzled the back of her neck and lips lightly kissed behind her ear before sighing a throaty greeting. “Mmm, morning.”

Beca felt an instinctive tug of a smile form on her lips and she settled back into the comfort of Chloe’s arms, quietly revelling in tender affection Chloe displayed so openly. She mumbled her own greeting and shifted around to face the red head. She tangled her legs with Chloe’s earning her a soft smile whilst her hand skimmed over a sleep warmed hip, fingertips tracing affectionate circles.

Chloe head shifted on her pillow and she lightly pressed her forehead against Beca’s, cerulean eyes meeting a much darker flecked blue steel. It took only a second for Chloe to read the near imperceptible listlessness in Beca’s eyes for her arms to instinctively tighten around her, as if to stave away the already encroaching desolate mood. 

Chloe’s brow furrowed in concern. “Hey, hey, you Ok?” 

Beca smiled gently as she brought up a hand to brush away a stray lock of hair, deftly and lovingly smoothing out the concerned crease in Chloe’s forehead. She nodded, seemingly happy to keep stroking Chloe’s soft cheek with her thumb in an uncharacteristically tender display of affection. Simply content to relish the moment.   
Chloe slipped a hand over Beca’s side, mapping out the contours of her ribs, noting the mellow rise and fall of her chest before sliding her hand behind her back, pulling her closer than ever. She smiled gently, reassuring her with patience when Beca did not elaborate. Chloe didn’t know what it was that had made such a change in her girlfriend, she supposed it was a dream or a perhaps a particularly bereaved anxiety that had made her so unusually laconic. She pressed a kiss to Beca’s forehead. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

Beca shook her head but her small, gentle smile returned, thumb still stroking her face. Beca blinked, her dark eyes revealing a vulnerable shade of soft delicacy. 

“Are you sure-” Warm lips silenced her.

 

Beca broke away from the kiss after several moments but didn’t pull away. Instead she closed her eyes and felt Chloe’s hot breath mingle with her own, lips mere millimetres away.

“Thank you.” Beca’s voice was small and unexpectedly reserved, but Chloe could feel her sincerity. She didn’t need to look down to know that the corners of Beca’s mouth had curled up almost discernibly, but it was there and that was enough for Chloe to do the same.   
Chloe lifted her thumb to stroke comforting shapes on Beca’s cheek, voice just as quiet. “What for?”  
Beca kissed her again. “For caring.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think.


End file.
